The Family Upstairs

Kat was use to moving but it never got any easier. She dreaded having to constantly start over. She had all but given up on a forever place to call home. One day when her husband comes home and hands her a set of keys and a deed. He informs her this move would be the last, she was over the moon. It wasn’t long after moving in that she found her dream of a forever home was going to quickly turn into her worst nightmare. What was watching from underneath the floorboard?

After my grandmother passed away, my parents brought me back from the countryside to the city. That was when I learned I had a younger sister, born a mere year after me. My mother sat me down and reminded me that as the oldest sister, I needed to learn to yield to my siblings in everything. I nodded quietly, understanding my place. In this household, I ranked fourth. Later, my little brother was born, and my standing effortlessly plummeted from fourth to fifth. The turning point came during the summer of my sophomore year of college. When I returned home for the holidays, I discovered the front door had been outfitted with a brand-new, high-tech smart lock. They had completely forgotten to mention it to me. Clutching a dead phone, I sat on the hot concrete of the stairwell, waiting from two o'clock in the afternoon until ten o'clock at night. When they finally emerged, they were dragging luggage behind them, laughing and chatter-boxing about the highlights of their recent vacation. The four of them were wearing matching family T-shirts. Naturally, there wasn't one for me. As my dad begrudgingly attempted to program my thumbprint into the system, he let out a sharp, irritated click of his tongue. "The master administrator account only permits five profiles. There's no room to add another." My mom barely looked up. "Just set her up with a temporary guest token. We can manually authorize her whenever she decides to visit." As I stood there stunned, my brother laughed. "Shelly registered the dog's nose print into the system. She said he's an important member of the family. Guess that leaves you out of the slot!" In a family of five, the dog claimed the fifth tier, and I ranked sixth. That very night, I quietly filled out the application to join a classified frontier research program. I understood that when a visitor's time ran out, the only proper thing to do was take their leave.

The Rowan estate has stood for centuries, its walls bearing witness to generations of triumph, tragedy, and a quiet, inescapable weight. Known for influence and misfortune, the Rowans guard a secret: the house is a memory vessel, absorbing the emotions and events of its inhabitants. Only one child per generation—“the one who carries it”—feels its imprint. For Jace Rowan, that child is him. Haunted by flashes of his brother Elias’s mysterious death in the sealed west wing, Jace lives with hallucination-like memories, déjà vu, and a physical sensitivity to the house’s presence. When Ava arrives at the estate, the house takes notice. Her father’s disappearance connects her unknowingly to the Rowans, and her grief fuels an emotional resonance the house cannot ignore. Objects from her past—her father’s watch, sketches of the west wing, and a brass key—materialize mysteriously before her, drawing Ava deeper into the estate’s labyrinth of memory. Jace knows the danger: the west wing reacts to emotion, and Ava’s connection could awaken truths meant to remain buried. As tension mounts, Ava and Jace confront both the house’s power and their own growing fears. The west wing does not seek to harm but to claim understanding—feeding on memory, fear, and revelation. In the shadows, a presence lingers, one that Jace fears is connected to Ava’s father. Bound by fear, curiosity, and an unspoken attraction, Ava and Jace must navigate a house that remembers, reacts, and judges, uncovering secrets about Elias’s death, Ava’s father, and the legacy of the Rowan family itself. In a world where emotion is power and the past is never truly gone, the house holds its breath—and waits to see who will survive its memory.

On New Year’s Eve, my kidnappers forced me to climb down the inside of a 650-foot industrial chimney with my bare hands. The kidnappers started a live stream on the dark web. They claimed that what I was doing could drive away bad luck and bring blessings for the country. I climbed for a full eight hours in darkness and pain. When my family caught me at the bottom of the chimney, my body was covered in sores, and I was so injured that they barely recognized me. Rachel immediately covered me with a shawl. When she helped me get into the car, she was shaking. My fiancee cried and dared not touch me. That night, she destroyed the whole criminal organization. On that ambulance ride home, I could barely think straight. I heard them whispering to each other. “Rachel, Jason just wanted an unforgettable night! You said it’s not “impressive” enough and insisted on making Yannick climb the chimney!” “Miss Jones, how could an ordinary present leave such a lasting impression on Jason?” “It doesn’t matter if Yannick suffers a little physical pain. Our family will more than make it up to him.” It turned out that the eight hours of agony I endured, which nearly killed me, were just to ensure that another man’s holiday would be “truly unforgettable.”

On our seventh anniversary, an event planner called, already hyping up my wife, Talia. "Ms. Sweeney, we're putting a family photo of you four in the main hall. And some shots of your little princess. That okay? Also, can you confirm your son carrying his sister onstage?" I froze. There were only two people in our house—Talia and me. A family of four? Two kids? I called Talia, the hotel's general manager. She brushed it off. "Probably a client. Wrong number on a contract. I hand out cards all day." I stared at the balloons and flowers I'd set up in the private room—then swiped them all to the floor. Gone. I turned and called my sister, the Director of the Business Compliance Bureau. "Naomi, Talia's cheating. She's got two kids. Get me the best divorce lawyer. I want her out—and out of my hotel."

When I'm washing Julian White's pants, I pull out a management fee invoice from one of the pockets. Surprisingly enough, the address is the unit on the floor above my apartment. The thing is, Julian's name is put down as the apartment owner. As I clutch the invoice, I feel my blood turning into ice. Suddenly, I recall the way Julian kept telling me he had overtime shifts to pull over the past six months. Because of that, he often came home past midnight. There were a few times when I realized that his car was still parked in its designated parking slot of the apartment block despite the fact that he had already "gone out". When I asked Julian for the reason, he answered, "The gas prices are very high right now. Taking the subway is more convenient, not to mention I get to save more money for our family's expenses." I used to feel happy about the fact that Julian cared so much about our family. But now, I finally realize that his so-called overtime shifts are just excuses for him to spend time in the unit upstairs. At that moment, I hear the sounds of a key being inserted into the front door's lock. Julian is home. When he notices the invoice in my hand, he takes it from me casually. "Maybe the staff placed it in the wrong mailbox." I nod with a smile. "It's nothing. I'm going to take out the trash first." After leaving the apartment, I head upstairs right away. Once I knock on the door, the woman who came to open the door for me is heavily pregnant. It seems that she's about to give birth.